Tanner’s order gets called right after mine, a black coffee that he proceeds to load up with cream and sugar—much less exciting than my latte. “You haven’t heard that conspiracy?” “What conspiracy?” I lean against the self-service bar as he stirs his drink. “People think that they do it on purpose to get you to be outraged and post it on social media. One time, they wrote ‘Shera’ on mine. S-H-E-R-A—not even close to Tanner. I’m convinced it’s intentional.” He scoops his empty sugar packets off the counter and drops them into the trash can. “There is no way it’s that calculated.” “Capitalism,
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